The Game
by myrina-lux
Summary: Repost of one of my older 'myrina' stories. Set early in Nightwing's timeline. After a long night patrolling, Dick returns home to find an unwelcome message. The young hero decides to view it as a challenge, however, and begins a sly game with his mentor.
1. Chapter 1: Next Move Yours

**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, DC does-I just like to write about them...**

**A/N: This story takes place during Dick's first year in Bludhaven, while he was employed at Hogan's.**

_The Game_

A sudden coldness brushed against the costumed figure as it climbed over the metal railing and landed on the slim ledge. Dick shuddered a little as he turned towards the direction of the wind, allowing its bitterness to sting his face. It was almost masochistic, but sometimes he needed that brief pain of a thug's kick or the sharpness of the winter's chill to remind him that he was alive. That he was more than just a cog in a machine in this endless war. That he was more than a vigilante in a mask.

More than someone else's shadow.

It was almost dawn, and the mixture of smoke rising from the factories and the translucent clouds made for a gray sky in Bludhaven. The streets were quiet, finding a brief reprieve from the tumultuous nightlife and anticipating the bustle of the morning commuters. It was an unusual and uneasy peace that thickly settled in the air around the city and her occupants. One that brought a subtle smile to their protector's lips.

It was his favorite time of day.

The adrenaline that surged through every pore during his patrols was beginning to fade, and exhaustion began to settle in its place. Here, now, as the muted sun began to take the edge off of the early frost, the city was as safe as she could be. Dick could curl up on his tattered couch under mounds of blankets and slip into a brief oblivion until he donned his battle gear once again. He could fade into his solace of dreams as he listened to the city awaken around him, its streets just the smallest bit safer, its decay just the slightest bit reversed.

He loved the dawn in Bludhaven.

The young hero had been here nearly a year now, sent by Batman to investigate a brutal string of murders. Somewhere in the process he had found his home—his battered, corroding home—an orphaned city in need of its own guardian. Somewhere along the lines, the right hand man in Batman's crusade had become his own general. He had found his own war.

Dick adeptly disarmed his alarm before sliding in a side window of his apartment building. It was a far cry from the manor, and a seemingly surprising choice for the heir apparent of a billionaire. But not to those who knew him. For a bright-eyed circus-born boy, this near dilapidated building with its crumbling edifice and never-ending leaks was far more comfortable than the sprawling mansion and its perfectly manicured grounds. It was a diamond in the rough in this city, and echoed Dick himself more than the boy realized.

A carefully manipulated paper trail and alternate identity had secured the entire third floor for Dick. The apartment beside his own served as Nightwing's liar, scattered with several computers, a small cache of weapons, and minor medical supplies. A few extra costumes, their dark blue and black Kevlar a subtle tribute to the young man's mentor, were stored in a back closet. The cramped headquarters offered no training room, no lab, no trophy room for the items procured throughout the vigilante's career. It didn't have a seemingly endless amount of space to house expertly designed planes and boats. And there were no dark crevices and jagged caverns resonating with hundreds of bats.

It was no Batcave. But it was_Dick's_. And that's all that mattered to the boy.

It was his_alone._

Dick didn't feel this smile brush across his lips as he pushed open a panel and walked into his apartment. He was imagining the look of sheer disappointment that would cross over the cowled face if Batman ever inspected the disorderly base of Nightwing's operations. But it had been eleven months, and Gotham's avenger had yet to make an appearance on the rooftops of the sister-city. Bruce Wayne had yet to visit the new home of his ward.

It was a bittersweet independence for the boy who had craved the taste of it for so long. The man who had in his eyes been so overbearing, who had watched and judged each and every one of his steps, was now a quiet shadow in his life. As much as Dick relished the responsibility and recognized the enormity of trust that had been placed in him, deep in his protected heart, he missed the scrutiny. He missed the intensity. He missed_Bruce_.

But he could never tell him.

Dick spent a long time leaning against the smooth tiles in his shower, allowing the spray of hot water to burn the chill that had seeped into his bones. By the time he slipped into a pair of gray sweatpants, their logo long ago faded from countless battles with abrasive detergents, he was ready to succumb to his exhaustion. His sparse, mismatched furnishings included a modest twin bed, but the supple cushions of the couch were much more appealing to the aching hero. He headed towards the bed to grab his pillow, just a few steps away from a muddled dream world where his tensed muscles could finally relax.

But then he saw it.

"_Damn._"

There, prominently displayed on his crisp white pillow, lay a single Batarang. Dick shook his head as he took the weapon into his hands, running his still-shriveled fingertips along its sharp edge.

Bruce had been there. And he had left a gift.

Or more accurately, a message.

_Upgrade your security system, Nightwing_.

That one little piece of sculpted metal spoke volumes.

_See how easily I was able to get by it?_

No note, no recorded message, just one little Bat gadget. But it said so much.

_You need to do__better__than this._

Dick was too tired to be angry. If he hadn't been so battered, if he hadn't been so utterly drained, he might have acknowledged the sting of self-doubt that weighed heavily inside him. He would have analyzed his every action and imagined just what his former mentor thought of him at that moment. He would have brooded over Bruce's opinion of him, torturing himself with the judgment which burned under that cape and cowl._Obsessively_.

If he hadn't been so tired.

But he was. And so a different reaction began to take shape. One that raised a dark eyebrow and quirked the boy's lips into a brief hint of his bright smile.

Batman may have accomplished this feat as a warning, as a stern reprimand that his protégé should have known better. But Dick decided to view it a bit differently.

_This was a challenge…._

_A game._

If Bruce could slip into his liar, then he would slip into Bruce's. But instead of leaving a sign to let the man know he had been there, he would_take_one.

"Let's see about_your_security, Batman." Dick whispered as he settled on the cream-colored couch. "Let's see how you feel about letting a little bird get by it."

The boy slipped into a deep sleep, the Batarang still in his grip, etching a deep depression in the tender skin of his palm.

XXXXX

For the next two weeks, Dick immersed himself in the grueling but honest grunt work of his job at Hogan's. There were days he more than half expected to hear one of the compulsively rehearsed and perfectly executed accents of Bruce's undercover personas from across the bar, demonstrating how easily the man could slip into all aspects of his prodigal's life.

But Bruce didn't make an appearance.

At night, the costume hero buried himself in obsessive patrols, launching from each gritty rooftop almost as quickly as his feet landed on them. Building after building, alley after alley, dark corner after dark corner, Nightwing let his presence be known. Each time he aimed his line for the next target, he more than half expected the outline of pointed ears and a billowing cape to greet him instead.

But Batman didn't make an appearance.

So Dick began to outline his plan.

The boy had two choices: the cave or the manor. Batman or Bruce. When Bruce had first told him his secret, when he had first told the nine-year-old ward about his crusade, he had shown him the cave. A sudden flash of pride had slipped into the man's normally impassive eyes as the child stood awe-struck by his side. Dick remembered how the minutes melted into hours before he even realized it as he explored every crevice of Batman's abode. He remembered running his small hands over the curve of the car, inspecting the endless supply of gadgets, and spinning around in the chair by the large monitor until he felt wave after wave of nausea. And he remembered slipping into the empty cavern when his guardian's darker persona was occupied at night, outwitting the cave's security measures. He never knew that Bruce would watch the tapes from the security cameras, secretly marveling at his new ward's cleverness.

No….the cave was conquered territory. But the manor….

That was_Bruce's_home. That was more of a challenge. The manor's security system was far more difficult, far more ruthless. The cave may have had the best technology available, but the manor had a protective measure that was incomparable to any Dick had ever encountered in his mask.

_Alfred_.

Dick would need to utilize every lesson Batman had taught him to execute his plan. He would have to obliterate any trace of his presence, but at the same time leave a latent sign that he had trumped his implacable mentor. Since Bruce had left_his_sign in the boy's bedroom—as much of a bedroom as his studio apartment had—that's where he would strike. So the frazzled but determined former boy wonder slipped a few essential tools in his bag and settled on his motorcycle, ready to make the journey to his former home in his former city.

He knew that Bruce was hosting a charity dinner that night and that consequently, the manor would be filled with satin gowns, polished shoes and perfumed air. It was a scene he had witnessed many times living under the roof of Bruce's ancestors. The feel of a black tie sliding tighter and tighter around his starched collar, the pinch of his cheek over and over from every matron in Gotham's elite circle, the ruffle of his raven locks by the beauties that commented on how the striking boy was as handsome as his guardian—he had experienced it too many times to recall the individual parties. They all melded together in his memories, the years mixing with one another. Dick did have a few distinctive recollections, though, as he stood politely by Bruce's side. He could remember praying to God and every saint he recalled his mother naming to him when she read from her family Bible to end his torture and allow him to fly across Gotham in Robin's bright colors. He could remember the feel of Bruce's hand as it gently squeezed his shoulder, a silent message telling the boy that he'd rather be behind his cowl, flying too. Dick would always look up into those clear eyes, and for just a moment, see them deepen with an understanding as the superficial playboy guise slipped a little.

He remembered thinking sometimes how uncomfortable Bruce looked being….._Bruce_. Dick always wondered if that would happen to him.

He always wanted to be comfortable in his own skin. He wanted to love Dick Grayson as much as he did Nightwing. He didn't ever want to sever one from the other as his guardian had.

That night, the foremost grounds were covered in soft lights to illuminate the beautiful stone front of the sprawling Wayne mansion. A spectrum of expensive and indulgent luxury cars lined the front driveway that arched around the elegant and impeccable gardens. Dick easily averted the sensors of the grounds and scaled the brick retaining wall along the west side. As he wrapped his jacket more tightly around his shivering frame, he could see the glowing lights of the manor in the distance. Soon enough, he would find himself staring up to the third floor, eyeing the stone balcony of the master suite.

Bruce's room was the largest in the manor. When Dick had first been given the grand tour, slipping his small hand in Alfred's warm one, the fear of being swallowed whole in this place seemed very real. When he laid his bright eyes on his new guardian's room, his mouth dropped open in complete awe. He ventured that with a running start, he could do about fifty handsprings in a row and still not reach the other side. Its furniture looked expensive—the dark mahogany wood shone from its glossy polish and the bed was dressed with beautifully woven fabrics. It was impressive, grand, and luxurious. But as Dick grew older, he began to realize one thing.

It wasn't_Bruce_.

There were small things here and there that hinted at the conflicted soul's true nature. Silver frames with frozen images of happier times, books that brought a relaxing solace. These things were hidden among the grandeur of a playboy's contrived image, and over the years, the boy was able to find them. Dick smiled as he gingerly picked the lock of the balcony's side door and soon found himself in Bruce's room. He made a mental note to readjust the thick vines that he had used to scale the wall, since both the owner and his sharp butler noticed_every_detail.

He hadn't actually been in the man's room in well over a year. Dick shook his head, a subtle smile playing on his lips as he realized it hadn't changed at all. The same heavy drapes, designed to block out the brightness of the morning sun for a battle-weary Bat. The same uncomfortable Georgian-style chair in the corner where the man had kept a diligent vigil over his young flu-stricken ward, carried here because the room had a fireplace to keep him warm. As the older but still bright eyes narrowed, searching the room for a suitable prize, a familiar, purposefully shallow laugh filtered up from the party. The ditzy playboy laugh. Dick's grin grew as another memory whispered to the front of his mind.

The first time he had heard Bruce use that laugh, he had only been here a few months. Another countless hosted charity dinner for the young heir, but it was circus phenom's first. He had been sent to bed early, but a wicked curiosity had taken the boy's hand and led him to the banister that overlooked the main foyer. Bruce had spotted the light blue pajamas instantly but did nothing to acknowledge the boy wearing them for nearly an hour.

Dick never knew that. He never knew Bruce let him stay.

When Bruce could see that his ward was falling asleep, curled up against the beautifully carved railing, he finally looked up, feigning a look of surprise. He nodded his head once towards the end of the hall—a signal for the child to return to bed. Then he called Alfred over and whispered something to him. As Dick rose to feet, his stuffed elephant clutched in his grip, Bruce drew his clear eyes over and winked at the boy. Then he was gone, drawn into a meaningless banter with the mayor's daughter. A few minutes later, Alfred had entered the boy's room, a plate housing a very large piece of chocolate cake in one hand, a cold glass of milk in the other._Compliments of Master Bruce, young sir_. It was the first time the boy began to feel like this could be his home.

As the memory faded, Dick realized he had to work quickly. He decided to claim something personal, something Bruce would notice but not for a little while. Not as overt as a weapon on his pillow, but enough to get his message across. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow, methodically searching the suite.

"Hm."

The dresser. Dick nodded. Something small…..something subtle. He very quietly slid open the top drawer, his bright eyes widening as he saw several expensive watches, their bands glowing in the soft light. There was a black box off to the side, worn with age but nestled by itself with obvious care. Dick recognized it immediately, shaking his head with disbelief.

"You kept this…..?"

The question softly whispered through the air, answered by a battering of branches against the balcony railing. Dick gingerly lifted the lid and stared at the watch inside—a birthday gift he had given Bruce almost ten years before. It had taken the boy all summer to save the money, although it had been more strenuous hiding his odd jobs here and there from Bruce. He wanted this gift to be purely from him alone. He never knew the man still had it, that it held a place of honor among his other mementoes. Among the pictures of his parents, among his gifts from lost loves, among…..the birthday card Dick had given him with it. Dick didn't realize the smile that had found a place on his tired but handsome face. He very carefully slipped the watch into his pocket and slid the closed box back in its place. Then he made sure every trace of his visit was erased before gracefully demonstrating the acrobatic genius in his blood and launching from the balcony into a series of perfectly formed flips. He wondered how long it would take Bruce to notice it was gone.

XXXXX

It took Dick almost a full minute to realize the resounding noise pummeling his aching head wasn't only in his hazy dreams. A soft grunt escaped as he turned onto his stomach and reached over for the phone.

"Hmmfff?"

"Master Dick?"

The young man cleared his throat and swallowed a few times, trying to moisten his mouth enough to free his voice.

"Alfred?"

"It's after one, lad." The butler gently chided. "In the_afternoon_."

Dick smiled as he buried his head further into the plush pillow. "And this means I should be up?"

"Well, you need rise eventually. Master Bruce has requested your presence for dinner tonight. Can you be at the manor around eight?"

_That_opened the bright eyes.

"D-Dinner?" He stammered.

"Yes, Master Dick. It's the meal that most civilized people eat sitting at a table instead of slurping over the kitchen sink."

Dick's smile broke into a brilliant grin. "Less dishes that way, Alfred."

"Will you be able to attend?"

It had been several months since Dick had been anywhere near the cave, let alone actually in the manor._Bruce…requested_.

Bruce_wanted_to eat with him?

Dick reached up with his free hand and rubbed his aching eyes.

"Yeah…..yeah, I'll be there."

The smile stayed deep in the boy's eyes for the rest of the day.

XXXXX

"Do you have to be to work soon?"

Bruce had been very civil, very subdued. He was swirling the last of the Merlot in his glass but a raised eyebrow let the boy at the other end of the long table know that he was focused on him.

Dick lowered his eyebrows. "I still have…." But his reply faded as he turned to look at the grandfather clock that had always been just beside the archway that led to the hall, just under the eighteenth century mirror discovered in an antique shop in Paris long before Dick had even been born. A gaping emptiness stared back.

"Still have what?"

A devious amusement sparkled behind the clear eyes Dick met as he swung back around.

"Where's the clock?"

"What clock?"

Dick's dark eyebrows lowered. "_The_clock. The clock that's been here for as long as I can remember. The one I cut my chin on when I was ten, and I thought it would be a bright idea to climb it to try a back flip onto the table."

Bruce's lips turned down in a slight frown. "I'm not sure." His voice was tauntingly calm. "I never really noticed a clock there before."

"How could you not—"

"What time do you have to be at work?"

Dick drew back a little._What was he up to?_

"By eleven."

Bruce slowly nodded before reaching up and pressing the corner of his starched napkin to his lips. "Well, let's see…..it's….." Each word was drawn out, teasing the confused boy. Then Dick watched as Bruce lifted his left arm and pushed back his sleeve, displaying the very watch the younger one had procured the night before. "Well, it's almost nine. Maybe we should have Alfred bring dessert in now?"

Dick had to bite his tongue hard enough to draw blood to mask his reaction._How had he even had time to…..? Dick had__just__taken it the night before. He had returned to his apartment, slipped it in his dresser, and then fallen asleep. How had Bruce….?_He forced a smile to his lips and woodenly nodded. He wouldn't give the man the satisfaction of relishing in his obvious surprise if he could help it.

"Sounds great."

Bruce's smile was much more genuine.

XXXXX

When Dick slipped into his apartment near dawn the next morning, his body screamed for its reprieve. Three robberies and five fruitless leads into the latest murders on Bludhaven's streets. He had barely made it to the bar on time and then had taken a few minutes after his shift to change into his Nightwing gear. He hadn't had a chance to check his dresser drawer to confirm what he now knew—Bruce had trumped_him_and gotten his watch back.

When he slipped off his gloves and carefully opened the drawer, another surprise greeted the young prodigal.

An exquisitely decorated box with a word embossed in gold across it._Rolex._Dick shook his head in utter disbelief and opened it. A small note was sitting on the very beautiful gift.

"If you needed a new watch, you only had to ask."

Dick grinned and shook his head. As he slid his finger under the back of the watch, gently inspecting the expensive item, he felt something brush along his skin. Grooves.

It was engraved. Bruce had it engraved.

Dick quickly flipped it over.

"_Me—2_

_You—1_

_Next move yours."_

Dick chuckled as he slid the watch over his wrist. "You're on, Bruce." He said, his eyes dancing. "I'm going to win this game, old man—like it or not."

He then settled on the couch and began plotting his next move.


	2. Chapter 2: The Crime Fighter's Diet

_The Game_

_Chapter 2_

Growing up the ward of Gotham City's billionaire bachelor afforded Dick the finer things in life. The most expensive toys. An endless wardrobe. Nearly every electronic gadget on the market. Dick never wanted for anything tangible under the roof of Wayne Manor. Bruce never intended to spoil the boy, but in his own quiet way, he was showing the child that he never wanted him to be without, never wanted him to suffer at the loss of anything again. It was a stark contrast to the life of a traveling circus performer, but then again, the small trailer of the Flying Graysons had its own luxuries. For Dick, the most important ones had not been physical possessions, but the now faded memories of a mother's smile or a father's ruffling of his dark hair. Somewhere along the line, Dick had reconciled his two past lives, and appreciated what everyone had done for him. He was grateful beyond words at all Bruce had given him.

But it was always the small things that brought a hint of that lopsided grin to the boy's lips. An extra piece of pie for dessert. An hour added to his weekend curfew. Alfred's decadent chocolate chip cookies. Those _always_ brought a smile to the weary crime-fighter's face.

It had been a week since his plan had backfired, a week since the engraved watch taunted him into action. And Dick had yet to make his move. Of course, a lot of things can happen in a week. At least, in Bludhaven they can. Dick had been so preoccupied that, he had almost forgotten about Bruce. He knew that whatever he planned had to be flawlessly executed. Battling the Bat was nerve-wracking, and Dick hadn't had a single chance to relax and formulate an idea yet. Not until a plate of chocolate-chip cookies had shown up at his doorstep, compliments of Alfred. He didn't have time to eat them then, since he was running late for his shift at Hogan's. But he had set them on his small, round kitchen table, promising his grumbling stomach they'd be his dinner after his nighttime patrol. He would unwind, enjoy his much-appreciated treat, and plan a veritable coup to Bruce's position as current victor in their game.

It was a productive but strenuous watch for Nightwing. At the moment, all the exhausted vigilante wanted more than anything in the world was to curl up on his lumpy couch with the plate of Alfred's decadent cookies securely on his lap. Then he could plot his next move and show that cowled mentor of his that—

"Oh, no."

That was _all_ he had wanted.

"No." The jaw tightened as bright eyes narrowed in utter disbelief. "No. No. No. No. _No_."

Gloved fingertips ran over the edge of the ivory porcelain plate before they reached the folded piece of paper.

"He did _not_….."

_Thanks for the snack, Dick. I was getting kind of hungry waiting for you. B._

"He ate my cookies."

The taunt was clear enough. Bruce hadn't been waiting for him to return from patrol. He had been waiting for him to make his next move.

"He _ate_ my cookies."

Alright. That had spurred him into action. Abandoned batarangs and repossessed watches were one thing-but Alfred's cookies?

This meant _war_.

The young man sighed as he reached up to free the black mask from its place on his striking face, loosening the adhesive spots just inside each temple. This seemed a little low-scale for Batman. Too much of a cheap shot. Too _simplistic_. Dick wondered if any other surprises were lurking around as he tossed the mask onto the gray laminate countertop. He bit his lip and stared at the closed door of his refrigerator. The low grumbling of his stomach reminded him that he was still hungry, and that even though his 'dinner' had been pilfered, he still needed to eat.

With hands on his hips, Dick studied the dingy white of the closed refrigerator door, mentally making an inventory of what food he had, trying to decide what sounded good to him. There was that pizza from two nights ago—he had nearly half of that left. There were the various take-out containers from his favorite Chinese restaurant a few blocks away. A few Tupperware containers that Hogan's wife had asked her husband to pass along to his new employee also offered a few choices. He finally settled on the pizza and a large glass of chocolate milk to wash it down. A smirk briefly flashed across the boy's lips.

_At least I still have that chocolate milk_.

Wrong.

"What…?"

It took almost ten seconds for the boy to close the jaw that had dropped open in shock. He stood there, mouth agape, in front of the open refrigerator just staring at the stocked shelves.

No pizza. No cartons. No chocolate milk. Everything that even hinted at having taste had been removed and replaced with—

"_Tofu?_"

Tofu. Bean sprouts. Soy milk. Broccoli. Dick shuddered. He utterly _detested_ broccoli, and the first time it made an appearance on his plate after Bruce had taken him in, he made sure both his new guardian and the well-meaning butler were well aware of that fact. Somehow, though, it always seemed that every now and then, he was served a more than generous portion.

Bruce had thrown away all of his good food and replaced it with every healthy one that the boy hated. A quick rummage through his pantry revealed the same horrifying fact. Cookies and chips had been replaced with rice cakes. The donuts he had procured yesterday morning were missing. And now his Lucky Charms had been traded out for something that looked like small twigs masquerading as cereal.

Dick could feel his face burning as he slammed the pantry door shut. Not only was his food gone, but now Bruce was two moves ahead of him. His ego was wounded more than his stomach, however, and the boy used his rage to fuel the need for revenge. After about an hour of brainstorming, a sly smile suddenly crossed Dick's lips.

"_Got it_."

Alfred had mentioned that Bruce had a meeting in the morning that was very important to Wayne Enterprises. Dick knew just how anal the man could be when it came to these things, how he had to be perfectly groomed, perfectly punctual, and perfectly prepared. Dick's smile grew. The man had to be patrolling now—he could slip in and out of the manor in a matter of minutes. The boy nodded once, as if affirming the cleverness of his plan. He would go to the manor, kidnap all of the man's suits, and leave him with nothing but a pair of tattered jeans and a loud, brilliantly dizzying t-shirt. The man would either be forced to call Dick and ask for his clothes, show up late to the meeting while waiting for Alfred to procure new ones, or actually show up to the office in a hideously casual outfit. Dick was banking on the last option, since his mentor would never admit defeat nor show up late to such an important meeting.

_Yep—it would definitely take the man down a notch._

"Shouldn't have messed with my cookies, old man." Dick taunted as he headed to his closet in search of the most color-challenged shirt possible. "Shouldn't have messed with my cookies."

XXXXX

Bruce was crouched on the ledge of an old warehouse, his binoculars focused sharply on a couple of trucks parked by the docks. Dick stood behind him for a while, watching the soft fluttering of the dark cape against the gritty rooftop.

"Don't you have your own city to protect?"

Bruce hadn't even turned, hadn't broken his gaze, hadn't even blinked. He didn't acknowledge that he knew about the boy's presence behind him except for that quietly asked question.

Still, something about it caused a twinge in the boy's heart. Bruce had said _your own city_, as if finally acknowledging the boy was good enough to be Bludhaven's protector. Dick finally swallowed and walked over to his mentor.

"Yeah, well, things were quiet." He settled next to the cowled man and peered over the ledge to study the so-far abandoned trucks. "Besides, I thought maybe you could use some help."

An eyebrow arched beneath the cowl. "Help?"

"Yeah—Alfred said you've been staying out later and later for patrols." Dick suddenly pulled out the bag of broccoli that had been left in his refrigerator and opened it up. "Am I not welcome here?"

Bruce shifted slightly when he heard the crinkle of the plastic bag. "You're always welcome here, Dick." He firmly replied. "I would hope that you knew that."

"Sometimes it feels good to hear it, though." The words had been blurted out before the younger one had a chance to stop them. He could see the pointed ears turn and knew the clear eyes were now finally acknowledging him. Dick cleared his throat as if that could erase his embarrassment. "What's the story here?"

"Rumor has it that more than just machinery parts are coming in with the next barge." Bruce explained, his lensed eyes still focused on the boy. "I wanted to check things out."

"When's it coming in?"

"Some time before dawn."

Well _that_ was specific. Dick suddenly grinned. Good thing he brought food.

"Hungry?"

Dick was holding out the bag of broccoli, watching for the man's reaction from the corner of his eye.

"No." Bruce turned back to the docks, bringing the binoculars back to his eyes. He waited for a few minutes, listening as the boy's gloved fingers searched through the bag, trying to find the perfect piece. "I, uh….seem to remember you not liking broccoli."

"Nope." Dick lied, slowly bringing the abhorrent vegetable to his lips. The smell alone caused his stomach to churn. "I've matured in my tastes. I've decided to change my diet, you know. Nothing but healthy food from here on out. That way, I can be in top condition for crime fighting."

Dick could see Bruce's jaw tighten a little as the older man fought to suppress a smirk.

"Is that so?"

"Hm-mm." Bruce had turned again and was watching with a keen interest as the boy tapped the thick green stem against his mouth. "You sure you don't want some?"

Dick heard a low, quiet chuckle. "Mmm…never liked broccoli." He answered as he slipped the switch on his binoculars to intensify the image of his intense scrutiny. "In fact, whenever you and Alfred weren't looking, I usually slipped it onto your plate. Glad to see I was doing you a favor."

The combination of the vegetable's raw aroma and Bruce's taunting revelation caused a spluttered choke from the young man. He felt three hard, precise thumps between his shoulder blades before he was able to catch his breath.

"Settle in, Nightwing." Bruce stated as he returned to his original position. "Looks like we could be here a while."

The young man fought hard to suppress a heavy sigh. He would be damned if he let Bruce see just how much his latest prank had bothered him, so like it or not, he was going to eat that blasted broccoli if it killed him. As the spongy texture rolled around his tongue and nearly gagged the breath out of him, he thought it just might.

As the hazy smog and the almost eerie mist of the Gotham night settled around them, Dick's mind began to slip back to a buried memory. One that was of a night like this—cold, dreary, and silent. One that occurred just a few weeks after Robin's official debut.

It had been a rough day at school, and even though Dick had been going there for over a year now, he still found himself on the fringes of the many cliques. He always seemed to be there, pushed into the outer edges of everyone else's lives, staring at normalcy while standing in its margins. Some never spoke to him, and others would look down upon the circus boy and tease him behind his back, or if they were feeling especially cruel, to his face. It had been one of those days, and the mocking insults of being a circus orphan, a gypsy-child that no one wanted had stung his heart. Alfred had noticed how upset the boy was and knew what was the most likely cause. Bruce, for all appearances, was oblivious to both.

That night, Alfred had gone to great lengths to prepare the boy's favorite dessert—triple fudge brownies. They were always best warm—in fact, for the ten-year-old, that was the _only_ way to enjoy them. Dick's subdued but still noticeable scowl had faded, and the dark shadows of hurt had lifted a little from his normally bright eyes when they were placed in front of him.

But then a firm, almost devoid voice had stopped his fingers in mid-air as they hovered over the brownies.

_Get dressed, Robin. We have work to do._

He hadn't even gotten to take one bite.

A few hours later as they crouched on an uneven and very cluttered rooftop, blue and yellow capes billowing in the bitter winds, he had asked in a near-defiant tone why he wasn't allowed to bring the brownies with him.

_We're here to patrol, Robin. If you wanted to snack, you should have stayed home and let me be the one who takes this job seriously._

That had hurt more than the teasing at school. It took Bruce a restless night to realize that. The next day, Dick remembered standing quietly by his desk, waiting for the teacher to dismiss the class for lunch. His bright eyes had narrowed when the young woman had suddenly excused herself and met a shadow in the hallway. A shadow whose voice he instantly recognized.

_Uh, Dick left these at home this morning. I thought he might like them for his lunch._ _Can you tell him that….tell him that Alfred brought these by for him? I don't want him to think that I was checking up on him._

_Of course, Mr. Wayne_.

The teacher had returned and placed a small plate on Dick's desk. Brownies. Triple fudge. Still warm to the touch.

It had brought a genuine smile to the boy's lips.

"Shouldn't you be getting back to the manor?" Dick suddenly asked. "It's almost dawn, and Alfred told me you have that important meeting with Lucius?"

"Mm." Bruce murmured, his attention still focused on the scene below.

Dick slowly rose to his feet, staring in absolute disgust at the half-empty bag. _Had he really forced himself to eat that much?_

"Wayne Enterprises acquiring another business?"

"This one's important, Dick." A sudden edginess had slipped into the fatigued hero's voice. He kept his back to the younger one, apparently unaware that Dick had stood and walked a few feet away. "Very important. It could mean a lot of jobs that people in this city need."

"So who're you and Lucius meeting with?"

"Agbar Industries. The CEO and a few other important players have traveled here from Germany. If all goes well, Wayne Enterprises will be opening several factories with them."

"Well….I'm sure you want to make a good impression. Maybe we should call it a night so you can get home and change?"

Dick could have _sworn_ he saw the tiniest of smiles cross the man's lips before it was quelled. "Yes, I should." No protest. No lecture about how Batman never just _calls it a night_. Nope. Nothing like that. Just a small, subtle smile on the normally passive face. "I need to pick out a suit."

With that the man was gone, the echo of the jump-line blasting across the sky still ringing in the younger one's ears.

XXXXX

Dick had crawled into bed the second he finished scrubbing the horrendous taste of broccoli out of his mouth by brushing his teeth about twenty times. He didn't realize that the few seconds he thought he had closed his eyes for had actually been a few hours until the phone blared into his ear.

"Yeah?"

"Late night?" An amused voice asked.

Dick reached up and rubbed his aching eyes. "Something like that."

"Well, I thought I'd thank you for your help last night by taking you out to lunch." Bruce said, his voice unusually light. "Can you be here at Wayne Enterprises in an hour?"

"Yeah, I think—" Hold on. Bruce wanted to _thank_him? Bruce never thanked him. At least not in ways that he specifically pointed out were for that purpose. Something else was going on. It took the boy a few minutes to remember his prank. Ah—so this was some sort of trap. A chastisement. A punishment. Dick knew better than to go, but he just couldn't wait to see how a jeans and t-shirt clad billionaire business man had managed to seriously conduct his important meeting. "Yeah, I'll be there. See you in an hour?"

"Sounds good, Dick."

The young man smiled as he hung up the phone. This was going to be _good_. To rub salt into the already stinging wound, Dick decided to wear a suit himself so that he make the normally perfect Bruce Wayne's unprofessional attire that much more conspicuous. Dick sighed as he threw the chenille blanket off of his legs. He couldn't wait to get the whole delicious story from Lucius.

"Dick! So glad you decided to come!"

The boy was standing outside the board room staring with mouth open at the chief executives of Wayne Enterprises along with those from Agbar clad in jeans and t-shirts. He finally managed to blink when he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.

"Oh—I guess I forgot to mention that I decided to make today a casual day." Bruce pointed out. The younger one could see the subtle, knowing smile that time. "Seems I could only find this to wear."

Dick just frowned and shook his head.

"Mr. Wayne surprised everyone all by personally calling us this morning and telling us that we could dress down today. I think it even made those Agbar execs more at ease." Bruce's secretary chimed in. "Believe it or not, Mr. Wayne can be quite intimidating sometimes."

"Well, we should get going. I've made reservations for us. And don't worry—I made sure they have broccoli for you."

_Bruce—3; Dick—2_

_Oh, yeah_. Dick thought as he followed the man to the elevator. _This is definitely a __war_.


	3. Chapter 3: Daddy Wayne

_**The Game**_

_**Chapter 3**_

"Master Dick! What a wonderful surprise!" Alfred's clear, gray eyes widened and a warm smile graced his dignified face. The grandfatherly butler moved to the side of the immense front door as a gesture for the young man to enter. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Dick grinned as he shrugged out of his heavy jacket. "Home cooking, Alfred."

"Ah." A twinkle in the older one's eyes betrayed that the little game currently being played by his charges was well-known to him. "I take it your new diet is not agreeing with you?"

"He stocked my refrigerator with tofu, Alfred!" Dick shuddered at the image of the near-gelatinous brick quivering in its container when he had finally been brave enough to touch it. "_Tofu._He even replaced my hotdogs with some kind of _alternative veggie _dogs! I don't even want to know what an _alternative veggie _is, Alfred. I mean, do you know what kind of an insult that is to a circus brat? I grew up eating some of the best dogs in the country!"

"Oh, indeed, Master Dick." The tone revealed that the butler was highly amused at the boy's ranting. "I believe Master Bruce realized the insult as well."

Dick could only scoff and cross his arms over his chest. Alfred's smile grew as he gestured towards the kitchen. "I guess you could say that he took aim_at_your belt instead of below it?"

The boy shook his head at the bad joke. "He threw out your cookies, you know." He said, dark eyebrow arched as the butler's expression was scrutinized at the revelation.

"I'm afraid you're wrong there, lad." Alfred gently contradicted. "He didn't throw them out."

A small gasp escaped. "He ate them?"

"Every last one, I believe."

Dick silently wallowed in his misery until they reached the small table in the breakfast nook of the spacious kitchen. He settled into one of the heavy oak chairs and propped his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his palms.

"I have to get him good, Alfred."

"I would expect nothing less, lad."

"Hm."

Dick bit his lip and narrowed his bright eyes, falling into a deep concentration while deciding just what he could do next. The rich aroma of freshly baked cookies that wafted under his nose barely registered with him.

"He made me eat broccoli, Alfred."

A soft chuckle escaped the butler as he placed a small porcelain plate on the round table. A glass filled to the brim with cold milk soon joined it.

"The nerve, Master Dick."

"Mmphf." The boy mumbled, shoving a warm peanut butter cookie whole into his mouth. Alfred shook his head in disapproval, watching the handsome face contort as the boy struggled to chew it all. "Did you know he used to put his broccoli on my plate when you weren't looking?"

"You don't say?"

Dick downed half the glass of the refreshing, crisp milk with a single gulp. "Uh-huh."

"Well, then…." More of the thick liquid was poured into the tall glass. "It's a good thing I always put a double helping on his plate to begin with."

A bright grin greeted the revelation. "Alfred, is there anything you _don't _know?"

"Quite a lot, lad." The man replied with a wry smile. "For instance, I don't know how Master Bruce is going to survive his date tonight with Councilman Roger's daughter. He has been brooding over just how to get out of it for almost two weeks now."

Dick shrugged, stuffing another whole cookie into his mouth. It earned him a sharp look of displeasure. "Why doesn't he just cancel?"

"Unfortunately, Master Dick, it's one of the times that Bruce Wayne must make a necessary appearance." Alfred explained. "The councilman is the one thing preventing Wayne Enterprises from being able to create quite a few jobs in the market district. It was mentioned more than once to Master Bruce that this date could persuade the man to change his mind."

"Ah, blackmail?" The striking young man questioned. "I think I like this guy's style."

"You'd be the only one, Master Dick."

A quiet sigh escaped the boy. "Who knows? Maybe she's nice, and he'll actually enjoy himself."

Alfred let a brief chuckle escape at the thought of his employer _enjoying _himself. It was a rarity in the man's darkening life.

"I hear, Master Dick, that she is as bad as her father." The butler suddenly pulled out a chair and settled across from the raven-haired boy. "It's going to put Bruce in quite a spot tonight. Quite a _vulnerable _spot."

A sudden realization sparked in the bright eyes of the aerialist phenom. He grinned as he jumped to his feet.

"I don't suppose I could get some of these cookies to go, Alfred?"

The kind butler gestured to the counter where a near overflowing container was already packed and waiting for him.

XXXXX

The background din of piano music and the ear-piercing voice of his date began to throb in Bruce's temple. He had already finished two glasses of wine, and they hadn't even finished their salads yet. His mind was far from the jabbering brunette across from him, delving instead into a more solemn world. As he leaned farther back into the dark maroon booth, offering his date his patented billionaire playboy smile, he began to map the route Batman would be following once Bruce Wayne was free.

"_Bruce!_"

The sudden booming voice startled the man, jarring him from his darker thoughts. His clear eyes widened in surprise as a familiar, striking young man slid into the booth and settled very close to him.

"I had no idea you'd be here!" Dick exclaimed, his dazzling smile and his sparkling eyes betraying that he was up to something. "And this must be….?"

"Heather." The young woman replied, her dark eyes darting from her date to the very handsome younger man now beside him. "Heather—"

"Rogers! Of course!" Dick ignored the look of utter surprise that was shot his way and offered Bruce's date his best grin. "Bruce has told me so much about you."

The girl drew back, an excited look in her eyes. "He has?"

"I have?"

Dick nodded, ignoring the jab just under his rib. He had felt it before—many times. It was a simple gesture, but one which spoke volumes, asking _just what do you think you're doing?_

"Yes. He's mentioned you quite frequently to me." Dick continued, his bright eyes and friendly smile laying on all of his infectious charm. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"And you are?"

"Oh, I see he hasn't mentioned me yet?" Dick asked, conjuring the best look of mock offense he could manage. "I'm his—"

"Ward." Bruce curtly interrupted, now realizing that the boy was up to something and more than afraid of just what the next word out of his mouth might be. "Dick is my ward. I've raised him since he was nine. Heather Rogers, this is Dick Grayson."

"Oh—I didn't realize you had a….well, it's nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Dick leaned back a little, making himself comfortable. "So, Bruce, this wouldn't be the same Heather Rogers that you're taking up to the lake house this weekend, would it?"

"Oh,_Brucie!_" The shrill shriek reverberated deep in the shocked man's ears. Of course, Bruce had planned no such weekend, but the young woman took no notice of how her date had nearly spluttered his Chardonnay across the pristine table cloth. "How romantic! When were you planning on telling me?"

"I, uh…."

"Uh-oh." Dick drew his flashing eyes to the man, relishing the look of sheer torture that crossed his face. "Did I ruin the surprise?"

"Oh, I can't believe this, Brucie!"

But the intense mental and physical training that the older one had subjected himself to year after year did not go wasted. He buried his shock and soon enough began plotting his way out of the conundrum his clever ward had just created for him.

"Well, I'll understand if you can't go." He smoothly replied. "I haven't given you much notice. We can always—"

"Heather, you can't disappoint him like that!" Dick argued, reaching out to gently squeeze her hand. "Lucius has rescheduled all of his meetings for Friday, and any….problems that might arise, I can certainly handle. Don't break his heart—tell him you'll go."

"Of course I'll go! I didn't realize we were getting so serious this fast, Bruce." Dick bit his tongue hard to stop a rising fit of laughter when he heard his guardian's pained groan. "Oh, my father will be very happy when he hears this!"

Dick ignored the now much harder jab in his side. "Your father is Councilman Rogers?"

"Yes. Do you know him, too?"

"Oh, no. I don't meet many of Bruce's friends since I moved."

"You don't live at the manor?"

Dick shook his head. "Not anymore." He reached over and downed the rest of Bruce's wine before grabbing the roll off of its small, cream-colored plate and tearing it in half. "Now it's kind of empty and lonely and needing a woman's touch, right Bruce?"

"Well—"

"Oh, Brucie, that place_is_much too gloomy! I know the perfect decorator. I'll have to call her in the morning."

"Uh—"

"I agree." Dick interrupted on cue. "It's very gloomy, right, Daddy Wayne?"

Bruce just blinked in disbelief at the never-before uttered moniker. "_What_—"

"_Daddy Wayne_?"

"Oh, yeah—that's what we used to call him back at the children's home." Dick explained. This time, he was not able to curb his choked laughter when he glanced at the incredulous look that filled his guardian's clear eyes. "Because he wanted so many of us—you know, like Daddy Warbucks from_Annie_? Anyway, I think I was on sale or something—"

"_Dick_."

The boy could hear the warning clearly enough in the edgy voice._That's not true and you__know__it_. Heather was completely oblivious to the subtext of her conversation with the charming young man.

"Well, maybe not_on sale_, but I was the lucky one he picked." Dick shoved the torn roll in his mouth in a move that would have made Alfred cringe in horror. "Anyway, he's always talking about wanting a ton of children to fill up the manor. You want children, don't you, Heather?"

"Oh, _absolutely_! And I know my father will be thrilled at having so many grandchildren!"

Bruce shook his head in utter defeat. He had taken all he could. Here this incredulous boy had practically redecorated the home that had been in his family for generations, married him off to this banshee and filled the manor with screaming brats in a record time of five minutes, when all Bruce had wanted was to end this date and slip into the more comfortable skin of the Bat. Not only that, but his entire weekend was now, without a doubt, completely ruined. He had to hand it to the kid. Dick had certainly won this round.

"Wait until I tell—Oh, there's Marianne!" Even Dick cringed at the shriek that time. "I have to go tell her about our romantic getaway! I'll be right back, darling."

Dick grinned, watching as she slid out of the booth. "Wow, _Brucie _and _darling_." He mused, turning to face his mentor. "She must really like you."

Bruce just crossed his arms over his chest and gave the younger one a glare that would have sent chills down the spine of Victor Fries. Dick, however, was far too thrilled with his victory and remained undaunted.

"I_will_get you back for this."

The raven-haired hero could only chuckle as he slid out of the booth, grabbing the other half of Bruce's roll along the way. Before he left, he leaned down, lips close to Bruce's ear, and whispered words for him only. "You shouldn't have eaten my cookies."

Bruce waited until the now whistling boy was long gone from the restaurant before he finally allowed an impressed smile to cross his lips.

XXXXX

Bludhaven had not been kind to her guardian that night. Five fights, two attempted robberies, and one grazed bullet wound—and that was just in the first hour of Nightwing's patrol. The boy was exhausted. He was sore. He was bleeding. And he was hungry.

But the entire night, there was a smile on his face that no criminal could obliterate.

He had _finally _gotten the best of Bruce.

That smile was still as bright almost six hours later when the boy finally made it back to his apartment. The city was quiet now, lulled into an uneasy peace as it waited for the murky dawn. As he gingerly slid into his apartment, a sudden luscious aroma brushed against him, wafting into his nose. One so strong, one that made his stomach grumble so loudly, that he thought he had dreamed it. But a quick glance into his kitchen told his pleased senses that it was very real.

There, sitting on his small second-hand table, were two very large, overflowing chilidogs, each topped with everything that Dick adored on this relished meal. The boy drew back when he realized there was still steam emanating from the delicious and unexpected offering. His clear eyes darted up and around the apartment, but the open window revealed he had just missed the cowled delivery boy. He shook his head, reaching out with his gloved hand for the note that was slipped under the plate.

_Thought you might be hungry for something other than tofu._

_Nice move tonight. I think that earned you__two__points. That leaves the ball in my court._

_By the way, Dick, I only ever wanted one child._

—'_Daddy' Wayne_

Dick didn't realize just how bright his smile was.

"I guess it wasn't just because I was on sale after all." He mused, reaching for one of the enormous dogs. He didn't even bother to take off his gloves.


	4. Chapter 4: A Day with Dick

_The Game_

_Chapter 4_

A sigh escaped a still figure blended in among the old eroding ducts on Bludhaven's rooftops. The black and blue of its costume seemed to fade into the shadows and pollutants of the night sky. The dark hair mirrored the rain-laden storm clouds that had eclipsed what little light the stars had afforded. Except for the white-lensed eyes keeping a fierce look on the streets below, the figure was completely camouflaged. Completely vigilant. Completely focused. Completely….

_Bored._

Dick sighed again, not realizing that the quiet breath had escaped his lips. There had been an aborted burglary attempt at a pawn shop a couple of hours ago…aborted after a well-trained hero managed to disarm and _discourage_ the goons before they could actually follow through with their plans. The young vigilante let a gloved hand fall to his side, rubbing it absent-mindedly. One of the men had landed his crowbar against Dick's ribs while he was occupied with the other three. The fingers fell and the perched figure finally stood, jumping from the ledge down to the gritty rooftop below. The wound wasn't serious, and from what the boy could tell, his ribs were still intact. But other than that, the night had been calm. An unusual occurrence in Gotham's shadowed sister-city. More so because it had been this way for over a week. Not that Dick wasn't grateful. It was nice not having to concoct an excuse to Hogan explaining his various injuries. _Dick, you're the only person I know who's tripped and fallen into their refrigerator while sleepwalking….twice_. It was nice living a life that had a modicum of normalcy to it…..whatever _that_ was exactly. But Dick wanted more. Needed more. After all, he _did _have the blood of daredevils coursing through his veins.

"Looks like I might actually get to bed before midnight." The masked figure muttered as he strode across the roof, a line in his hand. His stakeouts over the past few days hadn't provided any viable leads or suggested any upcoming crimes, and for once, the city seemed to actually be at peace. There was a disappointment that pervaded that revelation. Disappointment because no more criminals seemed to be promising an appearance, and disappointment because now that he actually was free for the night, he had no one to spend it with. The boy ran gloved fingers through his dark locks before placing his hands on his hips. "You know, Grayson, you should really get out more. You might even actually meet someone."

Dick took one last look around the silent alleyways, a slight frown on his face. In the back of his mind, he knew that those sighs had escaped for another reason. He knew that he was bored for more than the lack of criminal activity lately. He knew just _why_he had made himself a little more visible than he normal would lately. He just wouldn't admit it to himself.

_Bruce_.

It had been over a month since Dick had shown him just how a student could finally overshadow his teacher. One month, two weeks, four days and eighteen hours, to be exact. Not that Dick was counting or anything.

At first the boy had been on edge, wary of shadows and his dark apartment. Part of him enjoyed the exhilaration of the unexpected. _More _than part of him. He found himself trying to guess his mentor's next move, trying to imagine every possibility fathomable to be prepared for the man's payback.

Dick had been taught well. And he used almost everything he had learned to anticipate just how Bruce would exact his revenge.

_Almost_ everything.

The one thing he forgot is that _no one _can read Batman's mind. Even those who thought they were close. And so, as the boy invested more and more time imagining all kinds of scenarios…..nothing had happened. The two had even spoken since then—as both their night and daytime personas. And nothing had happened. So the dread had turned to anticipation and then exhilaration and finally to boredom. And boredom had led to complacency.

Just like Bruce had wanted.

When the raven-haired avenger stretched his arm and aimed his line for the ledge of the high rise a few buildings down, he failed to see the flutter of a cape and the nearly indistinguishable smile shadowed by a cowl.

XXXXX

Somewhere in his sleep, Dick's mind was aware of a shrill sound. It worked the noise into the boy's subconscious by making it a train's whistle in his dreams. It would take a few minutes before the bleary eyes opened and focused on the actual source of the annoying beeping—his alarm clock.

_6:30 am_

A yawn overpowered the striking face, forcing the mouth open into a gaping cavern. Dick swung his legs over the side of the low bed, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair, disheveling it even more. Sometimes getting more sleep than usual actually left him more tired.

Luckily for him, that didn't happen too often.

It took a few more minutes to convince his body that it actually wanted to move. He had promised Hogan he would help him with a few repairs around the bar that morning before the patrons who drank their breakfasts got there. Dick yawned again and finally managed to get himself to the bathroom. A dark bruise was beginning to flourish under his skin where the would-be robber had gotten him. Its elongated shape was purple edged by a light green and yellow. A color palette his body was used to by now. The wound had decided to make its presence better known, and Dick hoped that the gentle spray of hot water would help subdue it once again.

"_Ahhgg!_"

Dick had _hoped_ it. But a "gentle spray of water" was not what had greeted his body as it stood in the cramped shower stall. It was a spray strong enough to power-wash half the windows of Bludhaven's skyline which blasted against the stunned body and faded tiles.

The sheer strength of it is what startled the boy first. The fact that despite the nozzle pointing distinctly towards _HOT_ the water was anything but, hit him second.

Dick's first instinct was to get out of the path of the ice-water pummeling him, but his body was already two steps ahead of him. It had jerked back in shock and caused the normally graceful acrobatic phenom to falter and tumble down, dragging the shower curtain with him. The years of training under his parents and Bruce both was the only thing that saved him from ending up completely sprawled out on the cold linoleum floor with his chin split wide open. Dick quickly scrambled to stand up before lunging towards the nozzle and shutting off the water. He stood there, dripping and shuddering, staring at the shower curtain that had been wrenched from all but two of its hooks.

He had about ten seconds of quiet shock before the curtain rod suddenly gave way and fell onto the floor, its echo clamoring in the small room.

Dick sighed heavily and took a moment to chew on his bottom lip. "Well….." He said, shaking his head in resignation. "Good morning to you, too."

Bludhaven's protector had been through enough grief and dark times to know that he could find bright spots within them. So he allowed his usual grin to find his lips as he grabbed his towel.

"I _was_ looking for a reason to redecorate." He told the now denuded shower.

Dick didn't get a response.

A half hour later found him fully dressed and in his kitchen, goosebumps still prickling along his skin. He was running late now and knew he didn't have time for a well-balanced breakfast. No time to scramble up a couple of eggs. No time to even pour a bowl of his favorite marshmallow-laden cereal. No—this morning, a ready-made breakfast would have to suffice. And Dick knew just the perfect thing.

_Chocolate milk_.

The broccoli and tofu diet "suggested" by his mentor had only lasted half a day. Gradually, all the snack foods and preservative-filled delights that caused a spectrum of disgusted expressions to cross Alfred's face found their way back into Dick's kitchen and his stomach. The boy's exhausted senses missed the low squeak as he opened the refrigerator door. Dick decided to forgo the formality of a glass and grabbed the carton, opening it and bringing it to his lips to take a few quick swigs. That's when the sweet liquid gushed out and down his chin, soaking the front of his shirt. Dick dropped the carton in surprise, watching as it landing on the dingy floor before emptying on his shoes. The boy stood there in shock, arm still raised, head lowered and shaking, unceremoniously baptized in his chocolate breakfast. He cringed at the thought of another frigid shower to clean it off. After a frustrated sigh, the boy decided first to salvage what little milk he had left. After all—he still had dinner to think about.

That's when the refrigerator door fell off in his hand and clattered to the floor below, landing in the puddle of chocolate milk. Dick stared at the now bared appliance for almost a minute, blinking incredulously before drawing back and looking at his small kitchen. The milk was beginning to stain the peeling linoleum and a puddle of glass and pickle juice was creeping out from under the shorn refrigerator door. Dick shuddered to think what other items had broken when the door had fallen off, knowing that some of the things in his refrigerator were well past their expiration dates. God only knew what smells and colors were seeping into the old floor.

"Looks like I'll be redecorating more than just the bathroom."

XXXXX

"Dick! You look like a drowned rat!" Hank exclaimed as he eyed his hired hand. "Didn't you bring an umbrella?"

The boy had been in his closet frantically searching for another clean shirt when the first rumble of thunder hinted as to what would greet him while he walked to work. Dick had grabbed his umbrella as he rushed down the stairs, fumbling to open it and slip into his jacket at the same time. Neither had gone very well. His jacket sleeve nearly tore off of the garment completely, and his umbrella had jammed as he tried to push it up. After several hard pushes and a few grunts, the maddening thing inverted, one of its frame wires popping free and poking the frustrated boy squarely in the eye.

It had then ended up a mangled mess after a little of Dick's nighttime persona slipped into those bright eyes. The poor umbrella was duly punished and left for dead in a nearby trashcan.

"Guess I didn't realize how hard it was raining." The boy answered, an obvious frustration tempering his usual cheerfulness.

His employer offered him a slight frown, suggesting that he was worried about Dick. The younger one had to admit that he enjoyed letting the ex-cop play father figure now and then. It felt good to have someone actually worry about him without the layers of subtext and insecurities.

Dick forced a grin to his face as he shrugged out of his torn jacket. "So what's first?"

Hogan pointed to the floor behind the dark haired young man. Dick turned, eyeing the various buckets and pots that were catching the steady stream of water sliding from the ceiling above. Most of them were already halfway full and quickly rising.

"I think we might have a leak or two."

The boy's eyes and smile brightened genuinely now. He drew in a deep breath and grabbed the hammer from the bar along with the toolbox next to it.

"Well…..seeing as how I'm already wet….."

Hank laughed. "Dick—Floretta would kill me if I let you go up to the roof in this." He said, his kind but hardened eyes sparkling. "Let's see if we can wrangle a few more pots to hold the water, then we'll check the damage after the storm's passed."

The boy shrugged before nodding. He had been on rooftops in far worse weather than this. And for far more perilous reasons. At least he would get the chance to dry off. He would also get a chance at a hot breakfast as Hank's wife walk towards him, coffee and freshly baked muffin in hand.

The rest of the day went steadily downhill for the bright-eyed young man. His favorite pizza place was closed down for the entire day—no explanation and no huge slice of spicy sausage and mushroom covered pie to fold and shove into his mouth. The soles of his oldest and most beloved pair of sneakers had suddenly separated from the rest of the shoe, flapping loudly with each step and even tripping him a few times in front of a full, captivated audience. By the time he managed to make it back to his apartment, he wanted nothing more than to climb into his bed, pull the sheets over his head and start the day over.

There were only two problems with that.

Dick had yet to figure out the answer to the whole manipulating time issue, and….

"_Bruce._"

The striking man was sitting on the couch, an aggravatingly serene look on his face. He was, as always with his daytime personality, dressed to perfection in an expensive black suit and platinum silk tie.

"Dick."

The younger one drew back, arching an eyebrow as he studied the figure so calmly staring back at him. A subtle but definitely noticeable smile was teasing Bruce's lips as he leaned back against the somewhat lumpy couch and let one arm lay across the edge of its back.

"Should I even bother asking how you got in?"

Bruce blinked in surprise. "The door of course, Dick." He smoothly answered. "Seems the super left it open. I didn't realize you were having plumbing problems."

The bright eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

Bruce's subtle smile remained despite the accusatory tone which had slipped into the younger one's voice. He lifted his other hand and revealed a thin book, its once bright cover faded from its years, its once crisp pages yellowed and dull.

"Alfred was doing a little 'Spring cleaning' at the manor." He said, his clear eyes shining. "He found this in the attic. I know how much you loved it when you were little, so I thought you might like it back."

Dick furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, squinting to see the book's title in the muted light.

Then the moment of realization. The moment Bruce's smile grew just a little wider, and Dick's eyes grew in utter disbelief.

_Alexander And The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad__Day__By Judith Viorst_

"Oh, you didn't…."

Bruce's lips turned slightly in a perfectly subdued frown as he rose to his feet. "Didn't what?"

"The shower….the umbrella….my jack—I bet you even laid down a few bills to get Giovanni's to close today, didn't you?"

"Giovanni's?" The older one asked in mock ignorance. "Does that mean you haven't eaten yet? I came to see if you'd like to join me for dinner, Dick. Alfred had some sort of appointment tonight so I'm free."

The younger man sighed as he shook his head in defeat. Of course. He had stung Bruce so well with his last move that a big show of revenge would have been too obvious. Too predictable. So the man had meticulously planned a series of calamities to befall the boy in a day of torture and subtle pranks. No wonder it had taken so long! Dick was near fuming when he thought about the cowled man sitting patiently in front of the cave's massive monitor, tracking the weather for the perfect time to lay all of his traps. He could just picture the smirk on his face as he loosened the threads on his jacket sleeve and sliced the sole of his sneakers with his Bat-precision, or when he rigged the milk carton so that it would gush all over the front of his shirt.

If the Bat was anything, he was _patient_.

It was a virtue Dick had never quite mastered.

"I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to give this back to you." Bruce continued, setting the book on the tattered coffee table.

The younger one closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the first time the book had been a topic of discussion between them. He had been under the Bat's and Bruce's protective wing for just under three months, still trying to adjust to seeing his world shatter beneath him.

_Why don't you ever read my bedtime story to me? _The unsure boy had finally gathered the courage to ask the question after his young heart had endured one rejection too many. He had watched as Alfred tried to persuade his older charge to tuck the boy in and read to him, handing him the child's favorite book. Bruce had read the title and immediately shook his head, muttering something about researching a lead in a string of warehouse robberies. Finally the boy had slipped out of his warm down cocoon one night, and with book in hand, made the daunting trek down to the Bat's domain.

Then he had asked his question.

The older one had picked up the book, eyeing the pitiful looking boy and curled letters on the cover._Because I had a bad day once._ Bruce had finally answered, a storm threatening to overtake his clear eyes. _And I don't like to be reminded about it._

Dick's lips had creased down in a slight frown at that. He thought that's why the man did all of this, why he created the persona whose cowl was resting just a few inches from him. Dick had lowered his head and stared down at the cave's floor, curling his bare toes as if to hide them.

_But if you don't want to think about the bad days, you won't remember the good ones that follow them either._

Bruce had cocked his head to the side and studied the small creature then, this boy with bright eyes and a sadness only he knew how deeply burned in his heart. The next night he had made sure to be the one who brought a glass of warm milk up to the boy's room, the book with all its dog-eared pages tucked securely under his arm.

"You know…." Bruce began as he reached back to the couch for his heavy wool coat. "I never did understand why you liked it so much."

Dick missed the genuine interest that settled behind his guardian's clear eyes. He grabbed the keys he had discarded a few moments earlier and nodded towards the door. His rumbling stomach wondered if Bruce would pay to have Giovanni's reopen just for them.

"I liked it because no matter how badly things go today, everything always starts fresh tomorrow." The boy simply said.

"Hm." Bruce mused as he slowly nodded. "I always thought it was because it shows how the little things make the big picture."

Dick suddenly stopped and turned to face the man, looking him squarely in the eyes. He saw for a moment that Bruce had let his mask purposely slip to allow the boy a brief glimpse into his guarded soul. But then, just as quickly as it was lowered, it was fitted back into place and a little of Batman once again crept into the blue eyes.

The younger one smiled before opening the door and heading for the stairs.

"I hope you know that I'm _not_ counting each one of those as individual points."

Bruce let a soft chuckle escape as the door closed behind him.

"I wouldn't expect anything else."

TBC….

_**A/N: Thanks so much for all of the encouraging reviews! I am currently working on the latest chapter (as this was the last one I had written) and will hopefully get it posted soon. Thanks for reading! :)**_


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